Blackout
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: SVU AU John Munch and Sarah Zelman weather a blackout on a hot night in Washington Heights. How do they cope with the heat on a night when even the air is too hot to move? They get a little creative.


The heavy, humid air closed in around John Munch like a damp wool blanket, every bit as irritating to his hair and skin

"Blackout"

By Cardinal Robbins

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The usual disclaimer applies: Dick Wolf owns John Munch, but Sarah Zelman is mine.

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The heavy, humid air closed in around John Munch like a damp wool blanket, every bit as irritating to his hair and skin. He felt bathed in sweat, despite being clad only in a sleeveless undershirt, gray boxer briefs and black socks which he planned to pull off as soon as he could move.

He and Sarah had been sent home by Don Cragen, who'd dismissed all non-emergency personnel to weather the summer night's rolling blackouts at their choice of location. For John, it meant checking on his place and then spending the night at Sarah's, but they hadn't gotten far. He'd stripped out of his suit, shirt and shoes as she insisted on taking a shower at his place, the feeling of gritty sweat against her skin compelling her to bathe immediately.

Munch looked out the window while he waited for her, idly watching the haze around a streetlamp outside his bedroom. Suddenly, its light faded from white to yellow, dimming rapidly as the power grid deemed it was time to flicker off at last. But for how long? Before he could contemplate the question, he heard Sarah yell, "Dammit!" as she was left to rinse the Herbal Essence from her hair in darkness.

He roused himself, opened a drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed and fished out a book of matches. Another moment's searching yielded the feel of a cool metal MagLite, the batteries fresh, its light good and strong. John took a couple candles from the bedroom with him to the bathroom, where Sarah stood with a towel wrapped around her. "You called, milady?" he asked wryly, setting the candles on the back of the toilet before he lit them. "At least one of us was outside to get the emergency provisions."

"You're my hero as always, John," she replied, kissing him deeply. "I thought we had more time, didn't you?" She pulled her towel snugly, buried one end beneath the other and took the flashlight from him, her arms now free. She balanced the Mag in the empty sink, then pulled off his undershirt as he worked to get out of his socks.

"I thought we'd at least have until midnight," he replied. "The witching hour, a perfect time for the grid to be shut down, making sure everyone's late to work tomorrow morning." John turned the water on full-force, as cold as he could stand it, before taking off his briefs and reveling in the chilly spray.

Fifteen minutes later, both of them lay on the bed, clad in their towels, smelling of their respective brands of soap and shampoo. Fingers of one hand interlaced, both of them shared the same thought. "I hate to admit this, but it's too hot to have sex," John said.

"Even in the shower," Sarah replied, thoroughly beaten by the heat. "I'll bet you and Felicia never let a little heat-wave slow you down," she teased, remembering the night John, far past simply a bit inebriated, told her more than she needed to know about him and his favorite ex-girlfriend's exploits.

"That was in Baltimore heat," he began, "which is an entirely different animal than Manhattan feeling the wrath of Mother Nature running a raging fever." He stared up at the ceiling, a sly smile creasing his features in the dark. "This has to be worse than Southern California heat, too."

"I think you might have me on that one," she admitted, toying with his fingertips. "Still, it was pretty brutal sitting in a car with two sweaty feds, on a one hundred and ten degree day in Canoga Park. I hated hatching perps out there." She playfully tugged at the edge of his towel as he chuckled softly.

"I hope you don't mind going back," he replied. "Once I retire, I'm going to the beautiful San Fernando Valley and living the sweet life. Make that both of us." He missed the sound of his ceiling fan, its evenly-paced clicking almost as hypnotic as the ticking of a clock. He debated opening the window, convinced the stench of daylight-heated garbage would waft in to stay.

"If we go, you know that has to mean Burbank, right?" Sarah asked, unwilling to live anywhere else in Southern California for a wide variety of reasons. "Otherwise, my sister will never give us a moment's peace," she said, giggling. "And you know she'll tease you relentlessly." Bear, as Sarah's sister was affectionately known, had her own nickname for John who, in his rampant curiosity, badgered her with questions about everything from 'earthquake weather' to where the local cops gathered after end of watch.

"If she didn't tease me, I'd think she didn't love me," he shot back. "Besides, she's a nurse – they know all the best places for important things like food." He clasped Sarah's hand in his, as they listened to sirens wail alongside the activity of people on the street below. "Since your brother-in-law's an IT manager, it means he can set me up with a slick, wireless laptop to keep in touch with everyone." John knew he could just as easily e-mail family and friends from a hammock in Bear's backyard, as he could from his small apartment in Washington Heights. "That's where we'll go when we're through chasing perps, a warm place to rest our tired bones."

"Sweetheart, all of your vinyl records would melt." Sarah didn't relish the thought of moving a few hundred prized platters completely across the country. Or the hundreds of books between the two of them.

"You want to stay in New York, don't you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Right now, I want to stay where there's the promise of cold weather at some point during my lifetime." She resisted the urge to untie her towel, as did John. They wanted to keep the cool layer of air between damp terrycloth and their skin. "Do you have any ice?"

He sighed, mentally cringing. "No. I knew I forgot something after our little soiree on Saturday night." In the heat of their passion, both of them neglected to refill even one of the four plastic ice cube trays John owned. "We have some cold beer. Want one?"

"Are you offering to get up and bring me one?" she replied, doing her best to lure him with her voice. "You'd do that for me?"

"I offered you one, but I never said I'd go get it," he teased back, as he reached over just far enough to tug her towel loose. One side fell away, leaving her partially exposed, yet he still wasn't in the mood for a carnal encounter.

"Evil man," she quipped. "We could drag ourselves up to the roof…" It was a half-hearted suggestion, born of boredom and inertia from the ninety-three degree evening.

"First, we'd have to get dressed," he replied, finally relinquishing his own towel, "and that's a ridiculous amount of effort at the moment." He reached over, idly stroking her hair. "Then we'd have to climb stairs, a thought I don't particularly relish right now."

The air felt even heavier than it was hot. "Stairs. You're right, there's no way I'd survive the climb tonight." She rolled over slowly, kissed him deeply, touching him only with her lips. "Out in earthquake country, I'd always wanted a backup generator for power outages."

"It's not like we're completely unprepared. I do have a radio with batteries, a small one here in the nightstand." He roused himself enough to reach in and grab it, tuning it to news. "We're not totally out of touch with the world," he said.

"We'd never get so lucky," Sarah replied. "Is there something on besides more news about this god-awful blackout?" On the way to his place, they'd heard nothing but over-excited newscasters insisting that – even if the sky wasn't falling – they were in for certain mayhem from the lack of light.

John turned the dial, hearing snippets of different stations until he found music. "Smooth jazz work for you?"

"It always has in the past," she said seductively. They listened to the melodic guitar of Marc Antoine, his style as sultry as the heat surrounding them. Both of them eventually dozed off, exhausted by their day and the ensuing lethargy.

Two and a half hours later, John awoke first, the air in his apartment stifling. He wrapped his towel around his midsection and carefully made his way to the window, opening it in hopes of a breeze. He was greeted by the headlights of a lone squad car as it patrolled the relatively quiet neighborhood. Satisfied air was moving once more, albeit slightly, Munch left the window open wide to the smells and sounds of the street below.

Sarah realized subconsciously John was no longer with her and she awoke, sitting up to watch him look down on those brave enough to venture out despite no light. Flashlight beams bobbed up and down the street, illuminating footfalls to and from his apartment building. While Zelman knew she and Munch could easily walk the two blocks to her place, it was almost better being in his space for the duration. "John?"

"Yes, sweetie?" Observing the people beneath his window, he was reminded of his childhood ant farm; it too hummed with activity, no matter the time of day or the condition of the world at large. It had been as compelling then as the scene below him was now.

"I have an idea," she answered. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, but I don't think Dominos will deliver in the dark," he quipped. "I'm starving. How about you, babe?" He didn't take his eyes off the strobe of a bicyclist's tail-light, the woman's dim headlight barely keeping her from bumping against the cars along the side of the street.

"I'm hungry, too," she admitted. "I'll be back in a few." She found her way to his dresser and a fresh change of clothes, then headed cautiously into the kitchen to raid his fridge. Her hands met the extra Mag-Lite he kept on the edge of the counter and she clicked it on, giving her enough illumination to keep her from cutting herself as she hastily put together a couple of lunchmeat sandwiches. Reaching into the refrigerator once more, she pulled out two bottles of beer, still ice cold. In the cabinet above the counter, Sarah found a half-full bag of Fritos and a couple packs of Hostess cupcakes. Paper towels would have to serve as napkins.

A second beam of light joined hers as John made his way into the kitchen, flashlight in hand. "Look at you… Aren't you the resourceful one? We're eating al fresco, I take it?" Fully dressed, he was finally ready to climb the stairs to the roof, more so since there was the promise of dinner involved.

"We are. Scratch a cynic, get a hopeless romantic," she replied with a laugh. "Few things are more romantic than dining on the roof during a power outage." Sarah put everything they needed into a plastic bag before she and John shared a kiss. "Got your keys?"

He double-checked to make sure they were in his jeans pocket, walking with her to the door. "Of course. I'll lock up behind us," he said, as she made her way past him, taking the opportunity to kiss him once more. She didn't need a light on to know he was smiling at that point.

Once up top, they found a secluded spot near an unused air conditioning unit. It shielded them from the small gatherings of people who'd gone to the roof before them, some sharing food, others passing bottles of wine or spirits, all of them making the best of a what could have been a bad situation.

A thick, wide curb of concrete surrounded the compressor, providing John and Sarah with a place to sit, their backs against the machinery for support. From the bag, she took out a small candle in a glass dish, lit it and watched as he smiled gently at the gesture. They ate dinner in silence broken from time to time by the nervous laughter of those at the other side of the roof, the only additional illumination the ends of cigarettes as some people smoked and chatted.

Despite the heat, John and Sarah sat shoulder to shoulder, enjoying their closeness. He gave her a pull off his beer as she fed him Fritos, both of them happy simply being together. He wrapped his arm around her as she instinctively put her head on his shoulder. They spent the better part of an hour that way, interlacing their fingers from time to time. John closed his eyes, in a meditative mood; Sarah much the same, having chased the day's stresses from her mind.

Excited chatter from the other side of the roof brought them out of their reverie.

"Hey, look, we have lights again!" She saw the faint yellow glow of the streetlamps growing stronger, amber giving way to strong bright white. "Still want to trade all this for the San Fernando Valley?" she asked, as they watched dots of light begin to sparkle throughout both Inwood and Washington Heights.

"And miss the chance to do this again? No," he admitted, "I think I'll hang around this place a little while longer." He nudged her foot with his and smiled. "How about you? Ready to pack it in and move to Burbank?" He already knew the answer, but he always liked to hear her say it.

She felt the breeze start to pick up as it riffled his hair, the salt and pepper strands never losing their allure. "You know all too well, my home is where your heart is."

He stood, pulling her effortlessly to her feet. Their arms around each other, they watched more lights come on, the rhythm of the city slowly building once more below them. "I guess that means we'd better go back to work tomorrow, since neither of us is retiring any time soon," he quipped. "But we still have the night off." John tilted his head slightly, a hopeful look on his face. "Nothing says we couldn't go downstairs and create a heat-wave of our own."

"I thought we were too overheated for carnal pursuits," Sarah replied teasingly.

"Now that we're no longer famished, the temperature is rapidly getting back to what passes as normal, and we have a few hours to spare…" He tipped her chin up, kissed her deeply and began to steer her toward the stairs.

"And?" she asked, daring him to finish their mutual thought.

John blinked in the low light of the stairway access, closing the door behind them. "The night is young and filled with possibilities."

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End file.
